


Find My Way Back

by lordmxrphy



Series: magic in a bottle (drabbles & oneshots inspired by prompts on tumblr) [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordmxrphy/pseuds/lordmxrphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU where Clarke gets into a car accident and wakes up with no memory of the past five years—or Bellamy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. four 'I love you's

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to post this separately since it got so long. Part two goes up in a bit!
> 
> I hope you guys like the story, please leave me a comment if you do <3
> 
> (chapter one - the way you said I love you: As an apology; Over your shoulder; In a blissful sigh as you fall asleep; As a goodbye)

**I.**

Clarke wakes up to the beep of a machine, a dry mouth, and a stabbing pain behind her eyes. When she opens her eyes, she finds herself in a dark room. It’s night outside her window. She turns her head to look around, but the world tilts and pain lances through her skull. 

It’s only when Clarke tries to bring her hand up to her head, that she notices the man attached to it. He’s asleep with his head on the mattress beside her and Clarke’s only impression is messy black curls, soft, slow breaths, and a large, warm hand holding onto hers.

She doesn’t recognize the man at all and Clarke tries to pull her hand away without waking him, but he stirs almost immediately. The stranger sits up, rubbing his eyes, and Clarke catches sight of a hard jawline and the barest hint of freckles. She shifts on the bed and it creaks making the man look up. They lock eyes and, God, he’s handsome. Beautiful, even. With expressive eyes and a mouth Clarke longs to paint despite the fact that she gave up on art when her dad died two years ago.

Clarke’s still distracted by the stranger’s face when he speaks. And, God, his voice too. A deep, low baritone that reminds Clarke of vinyl on a record player.

Clarke’s so busy taking in all the details of this stranger that she doesn’t even pay attention to what he’s actually saying until, “Fuck, Clarke, I’m so sorry. I love you and I never should have—"

“You what?” Clarke interrupts. Her voice is hoarse and the words barely make it out. Her head thumps when she clears her throat and Clarke tries to bring her hand up only to this time find it tethered to tubes and wires. Her breath starts to get shallow when she takes in the room around her again, the fog in her head finally starting to clear. There’s a saline bag by her bed and wires hooked up to her heart. A machine beeps beside her and there’s a red button by her hand. Shoes squeak and Clarke catches sight of a woman in scrubs passing by in the hallway. She takes a deep breath and her lungs fill with the smell of disinfectant, fear, and death. 

She’s in a hospital and she’s starting to panic.

The stranger’s speaking, but Clarke doesn’t pay attention and interrupts his words with her own frantic ones.

“Where—where am I? What happened?” 

The last time Clarke was in a hospital her dad died. And while that was two years ago, this is still too soon. And Clarke has no idea what happened. She has no idea how she ended up here. Without the presence of anyone she knows. 

Where is Wells? Where is her mom? Why is this stranger the only person at her bedside?

“Clarke, Clarke, shh. It’s okay. You’re okay. You were in a car accident and you hit your head. Do you remember any of what happened?" The stranger’s voice is calm and her panic doesn’t disappear, but it slows.

Clarke shakes her head, straining to remember. The man beside her takes her hand and she finds the gesture soothing despite the fact that she’s never met him before. Oddly, he seems to know her though.

“I—I’m sorry, are you a nurse? Where’s my family?” 

The man lets go of her hand and takes a step back. Something like dread creeps into his features and Clarke’s heart drops in her chest.

“It’s me, Clarke. Bellamy.” She frowns, trying to place where she must have met him. Did they meet before the car crash? No, didn’t he tell her he loved her when she woke up? Clarke feels nauseous, her head hurts and she feels like she’s thinking too slow. She feels like she can’t hold on to too many thoughts at once.

The man—Bellamy—runs a hand through his hair, looking increasingly agitated.

“You—you don’t—you don’t know who I am?” Bellamy’s voice wobbles on the last words.

For some reason, Clarke desperately wants to tell Bellamy that she does remember. She wants to reach for his hand and she doesn’t know why. But that’s the problem: she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t _know_ him.

“I—I’m sorry. I don’t…” she swallows, “I don’t remember."

Clarke watches the words land. She sees them strike Bellamy like a punch in the gut. He falters and takes another step back—another step away. His hand clenches on the nape on his neck and his eyes become two shards of broken glass.

“Clarke,” the way Bellamy says her name breaks her heart. It’s like some part of her knows what he’s going to say even before he says it. “I’m your boyfriend. We’ve known each other for five years."

(It’s amazing how someone Clarke doesn’t even remember can still manage break her heart.)

**II.**

The doctor tells Clarke she has amnesia. Turns out she’s twenty-five not twenty, but every moment of the past five years is gone. 

It’s been seven years, not two, since her dad died and Clarke is a fairly successful artist living in New York city with her boyfriend, Bellamy. 

(Somehow it’s Bellamy and not the time that feels like the biggest loss.)

Luckily, though, Wells is still part of her life. He comes to see Clarke the morning after she wakes up and pulls her into his arms like they’re still two kids and Clarke just fell off the swingset on the playground. She cries into his shoulder and Wells rubs circles into her back. She’s tired and overwhelmed and just seeing a familiar face lifts so much off her shoulders. Clarke’s grateful that somehow, through everything, her best friend has always been a constant all her life. She hopes that never changes. 

Over Wells’ shoulder, Clarke catches sight of Bellamy in the hallway, two coffees in hand. He stands there, frozen, looking somehow both relieved and disappointed. He’s too caught up in his own thoughts to notice Clarke looking. He doesn’t know that she’s watching when he turns around and walks back the way he came, hardly pausing to throw the second cup of coffee in the trash. 

Bellamy’s barely left Clarke’s side since she woke up, but they’ve also barely spoken since. He’s present, but always just outside her reach. He consults with doctors, chats with nurses, fills in friends and family over the phone, but barely even looks at her. 

She sees Bellamy break once, while he’s talking to someone on the phone. She sees tears drip down his cheek, but she’s not close enough to hear what he’s saying. And when he returns to the room, his features are schooled back into calm .

“Who was that?” she asks carefully, trying to not to give away that’d she’d seen him.

“Miller,” Bellamy runs a hand through his hair. That seems to be his M.O. when he’s nervous, “Miller’s my best friend. You two… I introduced you two not long after we met.”

Clarke nods. Miller. Another person her accident erased.

But, the truth is, even though Clarke’s the one missing the past five years, it feels like Bellamy’s really the one dealing with loss. Clarke sees it every time he runs a hand through his hair, every time he catches her watching him and plasters a fake smile in his face. 

(She doesn’t even know him and she can still tell he doesn’t mean it. She can still tell he’s in pain. He’s a man who wears his heart on his sleeve. Or rather, in his eyes. His eyes tell her truths his lips can’t bear.)

Bellamy’s there when the doctor tells Clarke that there’s a high chance her memory will return. That the damage to her brain wasn’t severe and that they’re hopeful that as her brain heals, she’ll recover the memories she’s missing. But—of course there’s a but—there’s still a small chance that nothing will come back. That Clarke will never recover any of the five years she lost. 

Clarke’s gaze goes to Bellamy when the doctor tells her. She catches the flash of raw fear as it flits across his face.

She turns back to the doctor.

“What can I do? How do I help myself remember?” she asks, determined. She doesn’t know what she lost, but Clarke’s smart enough to realize that she wants it back. 

“Well, my recommendation is that you go home and take it easy. Let your friends take you to the places you used to hang out and see if anything jogs your memory. The memories will come back naturally when it’s time."

Clarke swallows, “And if the memories don’t come back?"

The doctor smiles sadly, “Then you make new ones."

…

Wells comes back the next day and it’s easier with him there. It’s always been easier to face things with her best friend by her side. 

It’s a Sunday so Wells doesn’t have work. Clarke smiles when he tells her that he teaches biology at the local high school. He brings her a hot chocolate (with extra whipped cream) and sits cross legged at the end of her bed, taking up a ridiculous amount of space while he does his best to fill her in on the past five years. But, with so much lost time, there’s only so much he can say.

While Wells catches her up, Bellamy sits in the hallway, working, the door closed between them. And every so often, Clarke’s eyes catch on his form. 

“Was I happy?” Clarke finds herself asking.

Wells follows her gaze to the hallway where Bellamy’s talking emphatically on the phone, using his free hand to gesture expressively. It’s endearing and Clarke smiles without meaning to. Bellamy seems to care so much about everything he does.

“Yeah, you were.”

Wells tells Clarke how she and Bellamy met during her junior year of college when Bellamy was the TA for her class. 

According to Wells, Clarke’s friendship with Bellamy began with Clarke pouring coffee over his head. 

She’d gone back a few days later to apologize when she realized that he’d been right about the mistake in her paper. As a peace offering, Clarke had offered to buy Bellamy coffee and, bizarrely, he’d said yes. Friendship followed easily after that.

“He must have been love with you from the start,” Wells laughs, “No sane person would ever forgive someone for pouring coffee on them that easily."

“To be fair, I was an asshole about how I pointed out the mistake, so I kind of deserved it."

Clarke looks over to find Bellamy’s smiling in the doorway. She smiles back on instinct.

“I hope the coffee at least wasn’t hot."

Bellamy looks at her, half present, half caught in the memory, he shrugs. 

“It was worth it."

...

Wells can’t get off work the next day so it’s just Clarke and Bellamy when she gets discharged from the hospital. 

She’s in yoga pants and a tank top and the few seconds she’s outside as she walks from the hospital to Bellamy’s car are unbearably hot. It’s New York in July and the temperature’s in the nineties. Thankfully, Bellamy blasts the air-conditioning on the drive to their apartment while Clarke immediately pulls her hair up in a top knot.

They take the elevator to the seventh floor. Wells told Clarke that she’s been living with Bellamy for over a year, but, of course, she doesn’t remember. She follows Bellamy down the hall to 7C and when he puts the key in the lock he looks at her over his shoulder and a memory unfolds, almost pale with the passage of time.

The day they moved in wasn’t as hot as the current one, but they had both been dripping with sweat from lugging all their boxes to the elevator and into the apartment.

_Clarke groans at the weight of the box in her hands as she follows Bellamy down the hall._

_“God, why did I have to date such a nerd? No one normal has this many books.”_

_Bellamy stops in front of the door, balancing his own box against the wall to free his hand and turn the nob. He looks over his shoulder and smiles. Sweaty, flushed, and bright._

_“I love you,” he says, easy and fond._

_Clarke laughs and drops her box in the hallway to pull Bellamy down into—_

“Clarke? You okay?” 

She shakes herself, blinking away the memory and returning to the present. Bellamy’s standing just inside the doorframe. His hair is different now than it was when they moved in. It’s shorter on the sides, but still long on top. And, in the present, Bellamy wears a frown instead of a smile.

Clarke pauses and looks at him, the reality of how much she lost finally starting to hit her. She was so _happy_ the day she moved in. (Was she that happy all the time with Bellamy?)

It takes her a moment to realize Bellamy’s waiting for an answer.

Clarke swallows, “Yeah,” she says, “Yeah, I’m good.” 

She walks into her apartment, determination in hand. She’s going to remember this. She’s going to remember _them_.

**III.**

The reality isn’t as easy as she planned. Clarke’s memory comes in pieces. She moves back into the apartment she used to live in. She sleeps in the bed she used to own. But the man she used to share it all with falls asleep every night on the couch. 

With Bellamy, things are awkward. How could it not be? She’s too much to him and he’s too little to her. Even their silences feel uneven. 

Still, every now and then, they have good moments.

Like the day Bellamy asks Clarke to hand him a book and she pauses tracing her fingers across the cover of The Iliad.

“This is you favorite book, isn’t it?” she asks, her voice quiet enough to be a whisper.

Bellamy sets his laptop aside and stands up. Hope raw in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “it is. Do you—”

She shakes her head already knowing what question he’s about to ask. The same question he asks every time she remembers something: _do you remember anything else?_

But the answer is always no.

Clarke remembers the day they moved in. She remembers his favorite book. She remembers the day they got caught in a thunderstorm and kissed in the rain. 

She remembers certain scenes and certain details, but she doesn’t remember enough. And it weighs on both of them.

Being around her other friends helps. There’s not as much pressure. Not as much at stake. Wells comes by all the time, usually with Raven, another friend Clarke remembers, her roommate sophomore year. Clarke meets (or re-meets) Monty and Miller. She learns that she was working with Monty on a graphic novel and that Miller and Bellamy both have jobs at the same museum.

And through all the remembering, re-meeting, re-learning, Clarke tries to remain hopeful—tries to keep believing things will get better. But it’s hard. Everything she doesn’t know, everything she’s lost, and everything she struggles to remember, weighs on her. It’s all so heavy and her knees are buckling with the strain. Her whole life is a reminder of everything she’s forgotten.

She’s grateful when Raven sweeps into her apartment one Friday evening, followed closely by Wells, and announces that tonight they’re getting drunk.

“God knows we could use some alcohol around here. Things have been too serious lately.”

And, well, Clarke couldn’t agree more.

Inspired by the fact that the last thing Clarke remembers is college, Raven suggests that they have a college-style party. Bellamy’s eyes go wide as soon as she says it. He starts to protest when Raven amends her suggestion. 

“I just meant that we should all hang out, get drunk on cheap liquor, and pretend that our problems don’t exist.” Raven smiles at Bellamy, “I wasn’t suggesting you throw a kegger, old man.”

“She says like that wasn’t her first thought,” Wells supplies wryly from behind. 

Raven sticks her tongue out at him and Wells laughs, the sound warm and fond. 

Clarke was surprised at first when Wells told her that he and Raven were dating, but now she sees how they fit. They balance each other out. And Clarke can safely say that she’s never seen her best friend look at anyone the way he looks at Raven.

Raven invites Monty and Miller over and an hour later the boys show up carrying bottles of cheap flavored vodka and a barrage of sodas to use as mixers.

They’re all working adults with significantly lower tolerances than they had in college, so it’s no surprise that it doesn’t take them very long to get drunk. 

Music pumps through the bluetooth speakers Monty brought and Clarke smiles as she watches Raven and Monty sway not even attempting to match the beat.

Clarke’s eyes catch on Bellamy when he barks a laugh at the way Raven tries to dip Monty and they end up toppling over. And when Bellamy stands and heads to the kitchen, Clarke pulls her feet from Well’s lap and follows. 

“You having fun?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Bellamy stoops to grab another beer out of the fridge before turning to face her. He’s been drinking, but his eyes are clear and Clarke feels out of her depth. She always does with Bellamy. His eyes reveal so much. And she doesn’t know what to do with all the things he lets her see.

“Yeah, I’m having a good time.”

Clarke taps her finger against his beer bottle, “Good, you deserve a drink.”

Bellamy’s smile softens, “So do you, you know.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to risk forgetting anything else.” 

It’s meant to be a joke, but it falls flat. There’s a pause in which neither one of them speaks and Clarke worries that she snapped the moment between them.

She tries to recover it, “Did we used to get drunk a lot? Back in college?”

When Bellamy shakes his head and chuckles, the knot in Clarke’s chest eases.

“No, you and I were always the ones taking care of everyone else. We were always making sure Miller got home alright and Raven didn’t puke over anyone else’s sneakers.”

“Anyone _else_?”

Bellamy laughs and they head back into the living room together while he tells Clarke about the time Raven puked all over some frat boy’s sperrys. 

Clarke spends the rest of the night with Bellamy. Tipsy but aware and kept warm by alcohol and the tilt of Bellamy’s smile.

She does end up having a few more drinks, but she doesn’t realize their effect until she stands up and she sways. Bellamy steadies her with a solid hand on her waist. 

“You okay there?” he asks, amused. They’re the last ones awake, kept up by their own talking, but now Clarke’s starting to feel the exhaustion that already hit everyone else.

“Shouldn’t have had that last beer,” she mutters, annoyed at herself.

Bellamy’s smile is too fond and Clarke just barely stops herself from pressing her fingers to it.

“Here,” he says “I’ll help.” He hooks an arm around her waist and it feels like no time at all before they’ve made it to the room. Clarke trips into the bed, not even bothering to pull off her jeans.

“Thank you,” she says into her pillow.

Bellamy’s laugh is warm. God, everything about him is so _warm_. 

“No problem. Need help getting under the covers?” 

Clarke nods, too sleepy and too lazy to do it herself. But Bellamy manages to get her upright again and he pulls back the covers before she falls into bed, heavy with the need to sleep.

“I wish I remember loving you, Bellamy” she whispers. 

Clarke’s eyes are closed and she can’t hear him, but somehow she knows Bellamy’s still there.

“It would be really easy to fall in love with you,” she murmurs. 

She feels Bellamy’s hand brush a lock of hair from her forehead and then nothing else, already asleep.

**IV.**

Three weeks after the car crash, Clarke remembers. 

She’s at the gallery filling out the paperwork on a commission when she walks into the her studio and memory comes flooding back.

The night she remembers can’t have been more than a week before the crash. She’d been at the studio all day trying to get a piece done and it had was already dark outside when Bellamy called.

_“Babe, you’ve been working for eight hours. I think you need to take a break.”_

_Clarke sighs into her phone and sets down her brush. She always loses time when she paints and she and Bellamy agreed a long time ago that he’d only make her stop when she really needed to._

_She holds the phone between her ear and shoulder while she uses a grey towel to clean her hands._

_“Okay, okay, I’m stopping.” Clarke slides on her watch and notices the time, “Fuck, it’s almost nine o’clock. Bell, please tell me you got chinese food for dinner.”_

_“You wanted chinese food?”_

_“Oh, shit, I totally forgot to tell you this morning, didn’t **—”**_

**__**“Turn around.”

_She turns and finds Bellamy standing there, holding his phone in one hand and a huge bag of carryout from Clarke’s favorite chinese restaurant in the other._

_Bellamy smiles when Clarke drops her phone and rushes over to kiss him. There’s dried paint in her hair and she probably smells like acrylic, but he returns the the kiss happily, smiling when she pulls away from his lips._

_He sets the bag of food on the floor and Clarke sits down across from him. They eat their dinner right out of the cartons, sitting on her studio floor. Bellamy snorts when Clarke tries to tell him she loves him around a mouthful of low mein._

_“What was that?”_

_She swallows, “I said, I love you.”_

_“Oh, see, it sounds different when you’re not saying it with your mouth full.”_

_Clarke shoves Bellamy’s shoulder and he nudges her back with a grin. She leans over and kisses him, setting her carton aside. She quickly gets distracted by Bellamy’s mouth. She’s been working on this piece for days and it feels like forever since she’s seen him. Bellamy tastes like orange chicken and Clarke smiles when he tugs her bottom lip between his teeth like she loves. She pushes him back until she has enough room to crawl into his lap. Her hands slide into his hair and his breath escapes in hot pants against her lips._

_They kiss and kiss and kiss. Like they’re teenagers. Like this is the main event. Clarke kisses Bellamy and makes up her mind about something she’s been considering for a long, long time._

_She pulls away, but doesn’t go far, staying close enough that her nose still bumps against Bellamy’s._

_“Will you marry me?”_

_Bellamy blinks at Clarke, the first time in her life that she’s seen him truly speechless. He pulls her back down and kisses her and kisses her and kisses her until they both need to catch their breath._

_“You have terrible timing, you know,” Bellamy pants, kissing his way down her throat. “I was going to propose after you finished this commission.”_

_“You snooze you lose.”_

_Bellamy kisses her again, “If this is what losing feels like, I don’t mind it much.”_

_Clarke laughs, “You haven’t even given me an answer yet, asshole.”_

_“Oh, shit, yes,” he stutters, his laugh breathy and carefree, “Of course it’s yes.”_

Clarke doesn’t even realize she’s crying until a tear drips onto her neck. She was going to marry him. She was going to _marry him_.

It’s too much.

Clarke rushes back to the apartment and shoves the first clothes she can find into a duffel bag. She’s writing the note when she hears the apartment door open and close. Looks like she’ll have to do this in person.

Bellamy startles when Clarke comes into the living room. He’s not expecting her there since she was supposed to be at her gallery all afternoon.

Immediately, he realizes something is wrong.

“Clarke, are you okay? What happened?” Bellamy takes a step forward, but he doesn’t reach for her. 

He’s always stopping himself from reaching for her and Clarke’s always noticing how much it hurts him. All Clarke ever does is hurt Bellamy. And she’s about to again.

“I have to go,” she says.

Clarke sees the moment Bellamy’s eyes catch sight of the duffel bag and the reality of what’s happening registers.

“Why? What happened? This morning we were fine.”

“No, Bellamy,” she chokes on his name. “We weren’t fine. None of this is fine.” She swallows her tears, “I asked you to marry me,” she whispers.

Bellamy’s face cracks, “You remembered.” He takes another step forward and this time Clarke takes a step back, “but, Clarke, that’s good. It means—”

She cuts him off, “No, Bellamy, you don’t get it. I remember pieces. Fragments. But I remember the whole picture. I remember telling you that I love you and remember you saying it back, but I don’t remember the moments it took us to get there. I remember asking you to marry me, but I don’t remember our first date.” Clarke’s crying and Bellamy is too, but she doesn’t know what else to do. “I don’t remember enough and it’s not fair to you or to me to keep pretending like half a love story is the same a whole one.”

Bellamy stares at her, his heart bleeding through his eyes. He looks at her for a long time.

“Where will you go?”

“I’m going to stay with Wells for couple weeks. After that, I don’t know.”

Bellamy nods. Clarke doesn’t know if she’s grateful or disappointed that he’s not fighting her on this. He moves to the side so she can walk past. She pauses in the door.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Clarke pretends she doesn’t hear Bellamy respond with ‘I love you’ just before the door clicks shut.


	2. four firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three times Clarke chased a memory & one time she made a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point, I realized that these two chapters together were over 8k so I decided to post the whole thing as a separate fic.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the first part, here's the conclusion!!

**I.**

Clarke wakes up with the kind of headache that only comes after a night spent crying. 

Last night, Wells hadn’t asked any questions when Clarke had showed up at his door with a half-empty duffel bag and a face full of tears. He’d just let her in and let her cry on his shoulder until she fell asleep on the couch. 

She did the right thing. She knows she did. It wasn’t fair to keep pretending like everything was fine—like everything was the same—when it wasn’t. But sometimes doing the right thing fucking _hurts_.

This morning, when Clarke gets up, Wells is already in the kitchen making a pot of coffee. She shuffles over and slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, rubbing her eyes. They feel sticky and dry.

“You okay?” Wells asks, carrying over two cups of coffee and setting one on the table in front of Clarke.

Clarke sighs and wraps a hand around the mug. “Not really.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Clarke takes a sip of coffee. Last night she hadn’t said much, choked by her tears, but talking to Wells might help and even if it doesn’t, he should know what happened.

“I proposed to Bellamy,” Clarke tells the table. “A week before the accident I proposed to him. I was in love with him. I wanted to marry him. And I don’t remember why.” The last sentence comes out as a whisper.

Wells takes her hand and squeezes lightly. Clarke takes a shaky breath. 

“It’s not that I don’t understand _why_ I loved Bellamy. He’s smart and kind and he cares _so much_ , but I don’t—I don’t remember the big moments with him,” Clarke pauses, “Or I guess I don’t remember the small ones. I don’t remember waking up in the morning with him. I don’t remember what TV shows we used to watch. I feel like I woke up into a life built by someone else, with this incredible person who loves me, but I didn’t earn any of it. I haven’t done anything to deserve Bellamy’s trust or his love.”

Clarke sighs and presses her forehead to the hard, wood table. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”

Wells squeezes her hand, “No, it’s not that, I just still don’t understand. Clarke, you’re remembering things. Not everything at once, not everything right now. But you’re remembering. Why does it sound like you’re giving up?”

Clarke stares at Wells’ hand, the weight of it feels like the most solid thing about her.

Because Clarke’s whole life feels like a dream. Because she keeps expecting to wake up.

Clarke spends the rest of the day in her studio, sitting in front of a blank canvas and clutching a paintbrush. She tries drum up the courage to create and ignores the memory of the proposal that happened before fate sent Clarke skidding across the road.

An hour later, Clarke’s exhausted and the canvas is still blank. She sets the paint brush aside, defeated, and walks into her cramped office.

She’s organizing folders and moving papers around when she comes across a battered sketchbook. Impulsively, Clarke picks up a pen. 

Her intention is to draw trees and a night sky, but the stars start to pattern themselves into freckles and the ground curves up in a crooked grin, and Clarke finds herself drawing Bellamy without even noticing. 

She stays at studio until the sky is black with night and her hands are black with ink. And when she finally sets aside the pen, she feels more at ease than she has in weeks. 

Raven brings dinner that night and after they eat, Wells, Clarke, and Raven watch a movie. No one brings up Bellamy, but somehow Clarke spends the whole night with him on her mind.

She spends every day that week in her studio sketching. And by friday, Clarke’s finally starting to feel like herself. She’s finally starting to feel like her life might fit her. 

Friday morning, Clarke decides to take it easy. Wells is at work when she wakes up and Clarke takes her time making herself pancakes, not bothering changing out of her pjs. 

The knock at the front door comes as a surprise and Clarke tugs her sleep shorts down, hoping that the knock belongs to Raven or Wells without his key and not a package or a stranger. 

Instead, Clarke finds Bellamy behind the door, holding a massive bag of sour skittles.

Bellamy looks like he expects the door to slam shut in his face, but Clarke just stares. They stand for a few moments in heavy silence until Bellamy breaks it.

He launches into a sentence like he’s afraid he might lose his nerve.

“The day of your accident I went to see my sister in jail,” he starts, “I went without telling you because I knew you would worry.” Bellamy runs his free hand through his hair. “My sister and I have a pretty broken relationship.” He doesn’t make a move to come inside. He stands in the hallway like he expects Clarke to make him to leave. Or like he’s just trying to tell her she can if she wants to. “Things didn’t go well the last time I saw her. But for most of my life my sister was all I had and I wasn’t ready to give up on her. That night I told you I went to see her and we got in a fight. You were hurt that I hadn’t told you and I was angry because I thought was right.” 

Bellamy takes a shaky breath. Clarke’s heart trembles. His eyes scream with guilt and fear.

“I let you get in your car even though it was storming outside. I let you leave even though I knew you were angry. I didn’t want to stop you because I knew you needed space. We both did. I didn’t think twice about the rain or the roads. And, God, Clarke, when I got the call from the police, my heart stopped. Because I let you drive away. Because the last thing I said to you was in anger.” 

He breaks off, rubbing his hand across his face and staring at the floor.

“Those few hours before you woke up were the worst hours of my life. I needed you to know that I was sorry, that you were right, that I loved you. But then you woke up and you didn’t—you didn’t _remember me_ ,” Bellamy’s voice breaks on the last two words. “I hated myself for not being able to be happy—for not being able to be relieved. You were alive, but I had lost you anyway. I didn’t know what to do so I pretended things were fine. I was hoping that would make them be. But you were right, things weren’t fine. _We_ weren’t fine,” he eyes lift and lock on hers, “But, Clarke, I can’t give up on this. On you. On us. Because things might not be the same, but you’re still the girl I fell in love with five years ago. And I can’t walk away without knowing I did everything I could to make things work,” he swallows, “I want to make this work.”

Clarke wipes her wet cheek and swallows around the lump in her throat. 

“I want to make things work too,” she whispers, “I want to get to know you, Bellamy. Whether my memory comes back or not.” 

Clarke had been trying so hard to recover her past that she hadn’t really let herself live in the present. And she’d been so busy pretending things were fine that she’d ended up tiptoeing around Bellamy. She hadn’t asked questions. She hadn’t tried to get to know him again. She’d sat back, passive in her own life, and waited for her memory to return. 

She’s done waiting.

Clarke reaches forward and takes Bellamy’s hand. She slides her fingers through his and presses their palms together. She tugs Bellamy inside the apartment, feeling relieved when Bellamy doesn’t stiffen or pull away.

She guides Bellamy over to the couch where she’s been sleeping at night and they sit down facing each other, just close enough that their knees touch. Clarke notices the bag of sour skittles again when Bellamy sets it down on the cushion beside him. 

“What’s with the skittles?”

Bellamy blushes. “I—I thought they might work as a sensory trigger for a memory. This past week, it occurred to me how little we did to try to jog your memory. And even if you don’t remember, I thought I could tell you what it was like,” he pauses, “I want to you to know how I fell in love with you.”

Clarke smiles, warmth spreading through her chest, “You’re saying you fell in love with me over a bag of sour skittles?”

Bellamy face splits into a grin, “Not, um, not exactly. We were friends for a while before we started dating. We drove all our friends crazy with the way we danced around each other for years.” Bellamy lets go of Clarke’s hand to tear open the bag of skittles. He pours some into his hand and a handful into Clarke’s when she holds open her palm. 

“The first time I kissed you, we were eating sour skittles.”

Clarke pops one into her mouth and bites down. 

Memory spills into the space between them.

_Clarke tosses the skittle and Bellamy catches it in his mouth. He grins at her, sour dust sparkling on his lips._

_She laughs and reaches over, using her thumb to brush the dust off his lips. But the feeling of Bellamy’s hot breath catches her off guard and Clarke freezes, her eyes moving up to lock with Bellamy’s. The universe stops to hold its breath and Clarke holds her breath right along with it. Because Bellamy’s looking at Clarke like he can’t make up his mind. Like he’s scared and hopeful at the same time._

_In the end, Clarke doesn’t know if she leans first or he does. All she knows is that she never wants the taste of sour skittles to leave her mouth._

The memory bursts like a bubble, there and gone in a blink. Clarke smiles. Because it’s just a fragment, just a piece, but it’s not missing anymore. 

“It’s funny,” she tells Bellamy, popping a sour grape skittle into her mouth, “I never liked skittles much before you.”

**II.**

Clarke laughs when she sees where Bellamy is leading her, his hand dragging her along behind him. But he’s so eager that her words come out fond instead sarcastic like she means them to.

“The Hayden Planetarium? Seriously? You took me to a museum on our first date?”

Bellamy pauses and turns, his smile so warm that Clarke melts. Just a little.

“No, _you_ took _me_ to a _planetarium_ on our first date. You said that I loved history and you loved the stars, so this was the perfect place for a date.” Bellamy’s smile goes a little crooked, “Truth is, I think you just wanted me to teach you the constellations.”

Excitement lights up Clarke’s veins.

“You know the constellations?” she breathes, “I’ve _always_ wanted to learn the constellations.”

Bellamy looks at her. Eyes soft. “I know.”

They spend hours at the planetarium and none of it brings any memories back, but Clarke learns about the universe with Bellamy’s hand inside her own, and, in the end, she doesn’t mind that her only memory of the place is this one.

Afterwards, once it’s dark out, Bellamy takes Clarke to Floyd Bennet Field. (“The best place in the city to see the stars.”) There, they lie back on the grass to gaze at the sky while Bellamy points out stars and links constellations. 

His quiet, deep voice pulls Clarke into another memory so soft and so sweet it feels like a dream.

_Bellamy draws his finger through the stars, connecting them into a constellation. “That one’s Andromeda,” he tells Clarke, voice barely above a whisper._

_It’s a brisk night and they’re sitting on the grass, Clarke tucked warmly under Bellamy’s arm._

_“What’s her story?” she asks, face tipped up to the stars. It feels like Bellamy is the only force keeping her tethered to the ground._

_“Andromeda’s mother, Queen Cassiopeia, offended the sea nymphs by claiming that she was more beautiful than they were. So, to appease the nymphs, Poseidon sent a sea monster to flood Cassiopeia's husband Cepheus’s lands. King Cepheus, trying to prevent the destruction of his kingdom, asked an oracle for advice and was told to sacrifice his daughter, Andromeda, to the sea monster.”_

_“Typical,” Clarke mutters. She doesn’t even need to look at Bellamy to know he’s grinning at her._

_“Andromeda was chained to a rock and left there until the hero Perseus saved her. And when Andromeda died, years later, Athena placed her among the stars.”_

_“You know, you’ve never told me why you love mythology so much,” Clarke says after a few long beats of quiet._

_Bellamy’s chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath._

_“When I was growing up, my mom used to read the Iliad to me and Octavia. It was the closest thing we got to a bedtime story. And after my mom passed away, I started searching for other Greek stories to read to Octavia. Octavia never really liked the stories, but I was hooked. I loved that the stories felt real. Not in the sense that I believed in the gods or the fates or anything like that. But the stories didn’t always have happy endings. Most of them didn’t end well… Mythology was how the Greeks made sense of the chaos in the universe. And when I was seventeen my whole world felt like chaos...” Bellamy trails off. Clarke turns to look at him, but he doesn’t meet her eyes._

_He clears his throat, “This is the part where you tell me I’m a nerd, right?” He asks, trying to joke, but his broken glass words give him away._

_“No,” Clarke whispers, “this is the part when I tell you that I think you’re wonderful.”_

_Bellamy’s eyes widen and his smile lights up the night. He tips forward and presses his smile to Clarke’s lips._

_When they eventually pull apart, Clarke leans her head against Bellamy’s shoulder and turns her eyes up to the stars, thinking that if a shooting star streaked across the sky right now, there’s nothing in the world she would wish for._

Bellamy’s quietly gazing up at the sky when Clarke comes back to herself. 

“You took me here after the planetarium on our first date,” she says, softly so as not to scare away the moment, “You told me stories about the stars for hours. We sat here until your voice was hoarse and I fell asleep on your shoulder.”

Bellamy nods, galaxies glittering in his eyes.

“When I drove you back to your apartment you kissed me and said that you thought our story was going to have a happy ending.”

Clarke blink back tears.

“Maybe our story still can.”

**III.**

The glint in Raven’s eyes should have told Clarke this was a bad idea. But bad ideas never seem that bad late at night.

They’re all hanging out at at Miller’s, celebrating Monty’s promotion at the tech company he works at with beer when Raven pulls a bottle of tequila from her bag and every person in the room aside from Clarke groans.

“Not again, Raven. Never. Again.” Miller says from his place on the couch. He’s stretched out with his head in Monty’s lap and his feet in Bellamy’s.

“You guys are such wimps. Last time was _not_ that bad.”

“Tell that to the six hours I don’t remember,” Monty mutters.

“For all you know those six hours were the best of your life.” 

“All the more reason to be annoyed that I don’t remember them.”

“I gotta agree with Monty,” Clarke chimes in, “Forgetting is no fun.”

Raven rolls her eyes at Clarke. “Cute.” She gets up and grabs a glass from the cabinet, “Well, I don’t care if none of you are interested, I’m not gonna let you ruin my party.”

Raven pours tequila into her cup and tips it back, swallowing the drink without fanfare.

It doesn’t look that bad, but next to Raven, Bellamy grimaces.

“What, you don’t like tequila either?” Clarke asks him.

“No and neither would you if you remembered Raven’s twenty-third birthday. The morning after you said you were never drinking tequila again.”

Clarke looks at him for a moment, then turns her gaze to Raven. “Pour me a shot.”

Raven grins, “That’s my girl.” 

“You’re gonna regret that,” Miller warns as Raven pours more amber liquid into her cup. “And I’m telling you right now that if you make a mess, you’re the one cleaning it up.”

“My boyfriend, the sweetheart,” Monty drawls. Miller grins up at him.

Raven slides the glass across the coffee table to Clarke. Everyone watches Clarke swirl the liquid and tip the shot back.

The memory hits Clarke like a sucker punch.

Not of Raven’s birthday, but of the morning after.

_Clarke’s head pounds and the entire room lays at it’s side. There’s a toilet, cold tile, and the distant buzz of electricity. It takes Clarke a few moments to realize she’s the one lying on her side and not the room. She tries to sit up, but the room tilts too far. Clarke groans and clutches her head._

_She startles when a voice speaks behind her ._

_“Good morning.”_

_When Clarke manages to turn around, she finds Bellamy seated on the floor next to the bathtub, a folded towel resting on the lip._

_The night before is a blur, but Clarke pieces it together. First, tequila shots with Raven. Followed by more than one beer. Then, Raven insisting on more tequila. That’s where it gets hazy. There was dancing with Bellamy and Clarke recalls finding a plastic crown and telling Bellamy she was a princess._

_After that, Clarke remembers kissing Bellamy, she remembers stumbling and grabbing onto his shoulder and then…_

_Oh no._

_She told him she loved him. Clarke told Bellamy she loved him—for the first time—and she was drunk when she did it._

_(It’s not that Clarke doesn’t love Bellamy. She does. She’s known she’s in love with him for weeks. She had just hoped to tell him when she wasn’t full of tequila.)_

_“How do you feel?” Bellamy asks her, groaning as he gets up from the tile._

_“Terrible,” Clarke answers honestly._

_Bellamy leaves the room and returns a moment later with a glass full of water and some aspirin._

_“You should eat something,” he tells her, handing her the glass._

_“I don’t think I can hold anything down right now.”_

_Clarke pops the aspirin in her mouth and drinks the entire glass of water._

_She wants to bring up the ‘I love you,’ but she doesn’t know how. Luckily, Bellamy does it for her._

_“Just so you know, I’m not going to hold you to anything you said last night.”_

_When Clarke looks up, Bellamy’s gaze is fixed on the sink._

_She stands up, grateful when the room stays where it is._

_“Okay,” she says slowly, “but you should definitely hold me to what I’m saying right now,” Bellamy’s gaze snaps to Clarke, “I love you.”_

_As soon as she says it, Bellamy smiles. “Thank god,” he breathes, “because I love you.”_

_He kisses her, still smiling. But when he licks into Clarke’s mouth, his tongue tastes like stale beer and Clarke pulls away, wrinkling her nose._

_“God, your mouth tastes awful.”_

_Bellamy snorts, “Well, you don’t taste minty fresh either, Princess.” He grins. Damn, she knew he wasn’t going to let her live that down._

_At Clarke’s blush, Bellamy laughs._

_And, after they both brush their teeth, Clarke gives Bellamy a real kiss._

The few seconds in which Clarke remembers seem to fit whole hours. But it’s been no time at when Clarke hears Raven cheer.

“Hell yes, Griffin! You want another?”

“No way,” Raven deflates, “My hangover last time was not worth it.”

Every person in the room straightens.

“You remembered?” Monty asks.

Clarke nods and her eyes find Bellamy. “Yeah, I remember that night ...and the morning after.”

When Bellamy’s lips slant into a smile, Clarke feels warm. And it’s not just from the tequila.

**IV.**

Clarke has never been to Coney Island. Never. (Not even during the years she lost.)

And neither has Bellamy.

They figure this out during one of their excursions to help Clarke remember. They’ve been slowly working their way through the years, Bellamy taking Clarke to the places they discovered together and telling her stories about moments when she can’t remember them on her own. 

Some memories come back, but most don’t. And at each place, Clarke listens to Bellamy and sees herself there. There, trying to finish a sixteen scoop ice cream just because Raven bet that she couldn’t. There, getting covered in flour with Bellamy when they tried and failed to make a cake for Miller’s birthday. There, falling in love. There, holding his hand. There, by his side. Friends, partners, lovers. There. Everywhere. The two of them. Together.

Clarke has plenty of pieces now and while it’s not all of them, she’s got the ones that count. 

They’re walking home after an afternoon spent at the bookstore they used to frequent when a postcard with a picture of Coney Island brings about the discovery that neither one of them has ever been. As soon as Clarke finds out that Bellamy has always wanted to go, her mind is made up.

“We’re going.”

Bellamy looks at her, confused, “What?”

“This weekend we’re going to Coney Island.”

Bellamy grins, crooked. It’s Clarke’s favorite smile of his. “Yeah?”

Clarke nods, “Yeah.”

The first thing Clarke does when they get to Coney Island is buy two cotton candies. She hands the pink one to Bellamy and keeps the blue for herself. His eyes crinkle, but he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he just watches Clarke pull a large piece from her cone and stick it in her mouth. Her heart skips when Bellamy’s eyes linger on the sugar stuck to her lips.

They spend all day on the rides and playing the carnival games, but Clarke makes sure to save the best for last. At amusement parks, most people think that’s the rollercoaster. Clarke disagrees. 

Clarke’s favorite ride has always been the one that lifts you up to highest point in the park—the point where you can see the whole world resting on the horizon—before it drops you straight down.

It’s the end of the day when they finally get on, their bellies full of fried dough and their chests full of nerves. 

They strap in and Clarke’s blood hums with excitement when she hears the click click click as they rise into the air. Their feet dangle in the open air and when Bellamy grabs Clarke’s hand, his palm is clammy. It’s only once they’ve reached the top that Clarke looks at him. 

It’s the moment before the fall—those last few seconds where the anticipation becomes unbearable. 

Clarke looks at Bellamy and Bellamy looks like everything. He grins and Clarke falls.

Her stomach drops. Her heart pounds. 

_I love him_ , Clarke thinks. 

The ride hasn’t moved yet.

_I love him._

Then, the world drops her.

When they get off the ride, Clarke doesn’t let go of Bellamy’s hand. She’s not ready to for the ride to be over. 

At the concession stand, Bellamy buys two slushies, one red and one blue. They find a bench and before Clarke can even suggest it, Bellamy mixes the drinks together. He pours blue into red and red into blue. And when both slushies are purple, he looks up at Clarke and smiles.

“You showed me this when we first became friends. I thought you were ridiculous,” he knocks his shoulder against hers, “I guess we were both right.”

Clarke snorts but it quickly turns into a laugh when she sees how pleased Bellamy is with his own joke.

“You’re such a nerd, I love you,” she says, reaching for her slushie.

The words don’t catch up with her until after she’s taken a sip.

Clarke looks at Bellamy. His mouth is purple and parted. His eyes say everything and no words. 

“I love you,” she repeats, setting down her drink. 

Bellamy swallows and Clarke’s eyes drop again to his mouth, dyed purple by his slushie. Before she can overthink it, Clarke leans forward and kisses him.

Bellamy kisses her back instantly, his mouth cold and sweet and soft. They press into each other until they’re as close as they can be, tasting colors in one another’s mouths.

Clarke gasps when Bellamy’s cold fingers graze her neck and Bellamy pulls away. He leans his forehead against hers.

“I almost forgot how good that was,” Bellamy breathes. He smiles. “No offense.”

Clarke wants to glare, but Bellamy’s crooked grin ruins everything and her face goes happy instead. She kisses him again and smiles when Bellamy whispers how much he loves her against her lips. 

Because, in that moment, Clarke knows that this memory is one she’ll never forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos and a comment if you liked the story!! It really means a lot to me :)
> 
> Come find me [on tumblr](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/) <3


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